A Sausage Sighting of The Ex-Wrestler

Long Island, April 2000

You're not supposed to think of people at the workplace as sexual beings.  Supposedly it distracts you from doing your job properly.

Work clothes are designed to minimize his physicality, keep the biceps and bulges under wraps, prevent you from imagining him naked.

But in fact, work clothes become all the more erotic because they're not supposed to be.

College students dress informally of course, wear tight jeans stuffed with socks or shorts that obviously bulge left or right, and as you walk up and down the aisles, you often get a good view of not only bulges but tents, as they struggle with an unexpected arousal.

But college professors dress a bit more formally, with shirts and slacks that keep things hidden.  You rarely see a bulge, never a tent.

Still, you can imagine what they look like naked.

Cruising -- leering, touching, and statements of erotic interest  -- is inappropriate in the closed environment of a workplace, but anyone can look, and once in a while you get to see him in real life.

He may ask you for date or hookup.  In thirteen years as a college professor, not including adjuncting, I've been approached by dozens of students, but never by another professor.  

You may run into him at a Bear Party or a bathhouse.  This is the stuff of porn movies, but it has happened to me only once.

You may see him in the locker room.  That's happened to me three or four times.

You may be standing at the urinal in the restroom at the same time.

That's happened a lot more often, maybe fifteen times.

Ok, most college professors are straight -- the gay ones burnout or get fired quickly -- so they're not asking you for dates or going to bear parties.  They usually don't work out, or not at the same time as you.  But they all stand at urinals.

You can even predict when: academics will use the restroom closest to their office, typically just after teaching a class (after dropping their stuff off in their office) or going to lunch, or just before they leave campus for the day.

Or during those long, boring committee meetings.  He'll probably check out after about an hour and a half into it to use the restroom; or if not, he's sure to jump in the moment the meeting adjourns.

If they're open urinals, with no barrier between, you got it made.

When I was a graduate student at Setauket University, New York, I wanted a sausage sighting of Dr. Chester, a former professional wrestler who taught the history and sociology of sports.

 He was in his 50s, massive, with a huge barrel chest, a bull neck, gigantic wrists and hands.  Unfortunately, he wore a business suit, uncharacteristic for college professors, with slacks that hung straight down and didn't offer a bulge.

He had a wife and kids, so he probably wouldn't be asking me for a date, or showing up at Ravi's Bear Parties on Long Island.

He didn't use the campus gym.

He never taught classes at any time convenient for "accidentally" using the fourth floor restroom.

Besides, during the 1999-2000 year, I was living in Manhattan, commuting to Long Island three times a week, teaching three classes, working on my qualifying exams, going to weekly Bear Parties, and hooking up with the BDSM Birthday Boy, a Man in Black, a teenage model, and Andrew Lloyd Webber.  I was a little too busy to do a lot of strategizing over a mere sausage sighting.

Then, one day in April 2000, late in the afternoon, I was on my way out of the Social Science Building to meet Yuri for dinner.  I didn't really have to go, but I decided to do a pre-emptive, just in case.

I unlocked the outside door and walked through the swinging security door into the faculty men's room.  It was very small, really only big enough for one person, with a toilet stall and a single urinal right next to the sink.  And there, at the urinal, was Dr. Chester, just starting to unwrap the most massive Kovbasa I had ever seen!

It was like a fire hose.  It took two hands to hold it.  Very thick, uncut.

How could he walk around with that thing in his pants?

He glared at me.  "Good afternoon, Boomer," he said  coolly, obviously not happy to be disturbed.  " I'll be through in a moment."

"Oh, sure, take your time," I managed.

He let loose, oblivious to my staring, or thinking that I was just impatient.

When he finished, he played with it for a moment, then turned, still hanging out.  I stepped back to let him past me.  He stood in front of the mirror and played with it a little more, while I watched.

Guys always wrap up while standing in front of the urinal.  They never walk to the mirror, still hanging out.  Unless they want to give you a show.

Was he suggesting something?  Was he offering me that gigantic Kovbasa?

Or was he testing me, to see if I was one of those "predatory" gay guys who accost straight men in urinals?

 I wasn't about to find out.  I went to the urinal and conducted my business, while Dr. Chester wrapped up, washed his hands, and left.

To this day, I wonder what would have happened if I had reached over and touched it.

See also: The Homophobic Student in the Shower; Twelve Teacher Hookups